Monday, January 20, 2014


A young man was asked to go to the forest and find a palimpsest buried underneath a tree. His family were annoyed at his desultory lack of even a modicum of inquisitevess about his identity which they understood palpably yet were fearful of disclosing unconscionably to him. They rather preferred to lead him to finding being himself and illumine the filaments of that being with self realization. The young man, rather indolent and unrealistically self confident who, though dwelling in ignorance believed himself to be in full possession of the most arcane of knowledge was sure that he would decipher the hieroglyphs and discover the knowledge encrypted and entombed in the palimpsest.

On reaching the forest he moved to the tree where the putative palimpsest lay. He began digging assiduously, taking intermittent breaths to catch his breath. He dug deeper and deeper, sifting through the muddy layers. As piles of mud accumulated on either side of him he found, instead of the palimpsest he had been told to anticipate, a pool  which, on this clear moonless night and as a result of his ferocious digging glowed pellucid . The moon reflected the water and was reflected in the water. The young man, fatigued by his efforts saw his sweaty countenance in the pool.

And it was then, through some nebulous alchemical transmogrification, he found himself gazing into the pool, seeing himself reflected. The water stood standstill and his reflection was unambiguously unwavering. As his face glowed palely and wanly back he saw in his eyes years of willful negation. He had been suppressing knowledge of his being from himself because in the interstices of the normative and the vertiginous nothingness on the other side lay the key to his being to which he, intractably foreclosed, was the lock. Though turning the key in the lock would require unraveling layers of integument to get a glimpse of the soul within. He saw, in the pool, amid the star studded sky, in this odoriferous forest, slivers of self knowledge insidiously but welcomingly, creeping in. It was himself he was to find  and he held the key. He discovered being, he figured out his identity in the luminous forest where freed from the restraints both of ignorance and deliberate abrogation of truth telling, unspooled the yet to be discovered  core, the fulcrum of who he was which was, in essence, both the key and the locked center.

He discovered through his own history which, in conjunction with temporality and history, the obliteration of the history of his kind . He discovered the erasure and repression to which his lot had been consigned peremptorily and unceremoniously. He discovered how the ostensible incongruity of his own being that, through years of suppression and self negation had snuffed any possibility of existing comfortably with the self. Through the mediation of the mirror he came to be. He became.

But he had only scratched the surface. The actual finality of fully realized becoming, which would take years of actualizing, still remained to be unlocked. Again he held the key. He anticipated expectantly  the treasure trove of his heart to unearth its contents. The mystery buttressed him. 

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